


No Matter What They Say

by Scrawlers



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Anime)
Genre: Family Feels, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Papa Sycamore, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 15:53:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11256138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrawlers/pseuds/Scrawlers
Summary: While helping a little girl choose her first pokémon, Alan is faced with someone who doesn't take well to his presence at the lab.





	No Matter What They Say

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place about about two months post-canon—and by “post-canon,” I mean the preferable ending where Alan chose to stay at the lab to recuperate/heal, while Manon resumed her original journey independently. Also, "Gabby" is short for "Gabrielle", which is the nickname of Professor Sycamore's garchomp in my works. Similarly, Alan's charizard is nicknamed "Lizardon" in my works, and has been ever since he was a charmander.

At any given time of the year, the Lumiose City Pokémon Lab had pokémon on hand that were well-suited for beginners. There was no set day when a person (a child, usually, but not always) would set off on their own journey, after all. Some children leapt at the chance the moment they turned ten, and others waited a few months or even years before they decided to set out. For this reason, beginner pokémon were always on-hand and well cared for, just in case a Kalosean child decided, however spontaneously, to set off on a journey one morning after waking.

All the same, even if the _pokémon_ were ready and raring to go, the same could not always be said about the _Pokédex_.

“Ah . . . I thought I had this programmed . . .” Professor Sycamore said, and he laughed sheepishly as he clicked through the mostly blank menus in the Kalosean-style Pokédex, thumbing quickly through them before he looked up at the young girl standing in the lab’s foyer with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about this, I thought it was ready. It should only take about ten minutes for me to fix, if you don’t mind waiting?”

“No, I don’t mind.” The girl rocked back on her heels, her thumbs stuck in the straps of her backpack, her blonde ponytail swinging back and forth. “I haven’t decided which pokémon I want yet, anyway.”

“Marvelous! Well, not so much that the Pokédex isn’t ready or that you’re unsure, but—well.” The Professor laughed again, and Alan turned away to hide the small smile he couldn’t bite back. “I’ll be right back. Alan, if you wouldn’t mind—?”

“It’s no problem,” Alan said, and he looked back in time to see the Professor nod once, a satisfied smile on his lips, before he turned and headed off in the direction of the research room, leaving Alan, the girl, and the three beginner pokémon alone.

As was customary in Kalos, the girl had three pokémon to choose from: chespin, froakie, and fennekin. At the moment, all three were on their best behavior; having been summoned in from the garden when the girl arrived, all three were well aware that she was going to choose one (and _only_ one) of them to take with her, and as a result it appeared to Alan that each of them was trying to make themselves look as well-behaved and desirable as possible. The fennekin wagged her tail every time the girl looked at her, and made her eyes big and shiny and bright; the chespin kept making his quills nice and sharp, as if to prove that he was intimidating and ready for battle; and the froakie didn’t appear to know what to do, really, and thus alternated between puffing out the cloud-like bubbles around his neck, and croaking excitedly every time the girl’s eyes landed on him. All three of them were clearly doing their best not to fidget or get distracted by any of the sounds from elsewhere in the lab.

But as much as each one of them was trying to be appealing, the girl didn’t seem inclined toward any of them. She pressed her lips together and fiddled with the straps of her backpack, and her eyes kept roving the lab’s foyer before she would glance back at the three before her. The silence in the foyer now that the Professor had left was thick, and Alan could see that the three pokémon were starting to feel antsy at her lack of enthusiasm. Alan put his hands in the pocket of his lab coat, and after a moment said, “So, you’re having trouble deciding?”

The girl blinked, and looked over at him as if it was the first time she had noticed him standing there. “Oh, um—yeah.” She huffed an embarrassed laugh, and ran her hands up and down the straps of her backpack. The way she fidgeted with them reminded Alan of Manon. “I just . . . haven’t really thought about it. I don’t know what the best one to pick is.”

“The best one is whichever one you like the best,” Alan said, and he cleared his throat sharply as the chespin turned to the froakie with a look in his eyes that suggested he would _prove_ he was the best by smacking the froakie senseless. The chespin started, and whipped around to look at Alan with an expression that at once told Alan he knew he had been caught in the act, but was also trying to plead innocence. Alan shook his head, and the chespin’s shoulders drooped in admonishment.

“But I don’t know which one I like best,” the girl said, as if she either didn’t notice the exchange, or was going to pretend that she didn’t. “I don’t know which one’s the strongest, and I want to pick the strongest—the best—one.”

“A pokémon’s strength depends on how you train them,” Alan said, and the girl tore her eyes away from the fennekin to look back at him, still frowning. He returned her frown in kind. “A pokémon is only as strong as their trainer.”

“I want to be strong. I don’t like losing.” The girl looked back at the pokémon, but only for a moment before she turned back to Alan. “And if I lose a lot then I know I’m not going to like it—the pokémon, I mean. So I want to pick the strongest one, so that doesn’t happen.”

“No matter which one you pick, they’re only going to be as strong as you are. It’s going to depend on your training regimen, and how well you understand one another. It’s going to depend on how much you want to try. And even if you both put in the training, and try your hardest, sometimes you’re still going to lose because the other team is better. It isn’t your pokémon’s fault, or even yours. It just means you both need to keep training so you can try to win next time.” Alan paused, and then—throwing caution and perhaps good sense to the wind—said, “If you can’t handle that, then you shouldn’t battle at all, and especially not if you’re going to take it out on your partner.”

“I’m not—!” The girl said, but she fell silent at the look on his face. After a moment, she said, “Okay, but . . . how should I train, then? What’s the right way to train?”

“That depends on your pokémon,” Alan said, and the girl gave him a frustrated look as she gestured to the three before her.

“How should I train these guys? Like, should I focus on their strength, or what?”

“Again, it depends on which one you pick.” Alan walked over to the three beginner pokémon, and knelt next to the fennekin, whose tail started thumping against the floor the moment he crouched down. Alan smiled and patted her head before he motioned to the girl to join them. “Each species of pokémon has different areas in which they excel—different strengths—and individuals within each species differ even more still. That said, you can usually have an idea of how you should focus a pokémon’s training depending on their species, because there are going to be some things that some pokémon just can’t do no matter how hard they try.”

The girl, crouched down in front of the fennekin, cautiously reached one hand out. When her eyes met Alan’s, he nodded, and—seemingly encouraged by this—the girl scratched the fennekin beneath her chin.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Well, let’s say you were training a slowpoke,” Alan said. “Slowpoke are naturally very tough in the sense that they can take a lot of hits before fainting, so you could focus on building their endurance even more in order to make it difficult for opponents to take them down. You could also focus on their innate psychic abilities to strengthen their special attacks. But as much as you might try, it’s generally going to be a waste of time to focus on their speed. Even if you evolved your slowpoke into slowking, it’s never going to be fast enough to outmaneuver a faster pokémon—and it isn’t difficult to find a faster pokémon than slowpoke.”

The girl laughed, and Alan smiled.

“Yeah, that’s true,” the girl said. “So, are there certain things these little guys can’t do?”

“Not as obviously as slowpoke with speed, but each one of these guys could benefit from different styles of training.” Alan picked up the fennekin and set her on his lap, and she eagerly pushed her head under his hands in a bid for petting. “Fennekin evolves into braixen, and braixen evolves into delphox. Delphox are powerful, but they don’t tend to have much in the way of physical strength or defensive bulk. So, if you’re training a fennekin, you’re going to want to focus more on their special attacks—attacks like Flamethrower and Psychic, for instance—as well as their speed. Focus on being able to blaze through the opposition, rather than stalling against them as you would with a more defensive pokémon . . .”

Alan gently shifted the fennekin off his lap (ignoring her whining as he did so) and picked up the chespin, who puffed out his chest proudly.

“. . . like chesnaught. Chespin evolves into quilladin, and then from quilladin to chesnaught. Chesnaught are, in a word, bulky. They’re not fast, and their special attacks aren’t very powerful, but they can take a lot of regular hits without going down and they have the most physical strength out of any one of the three here. So if you were training a chesnaught, you’d want to either focus on bolstering their physical defense and strength, or try to place a little extra emphasis on their special defense to make up for what their species typically lacks. Additionally, you can focus chesnaught’s—or chespin’s, if you chose him—attack set to be defensive, too. Moves like Spiky Shield can both protect your chesnaught and damage your opponent.” Alan grinned. “It can make it pretty frustrating for them, and depending on the opponent, that can be a bonus.”

“I see . . .” The girl drummed her fingers on her knees. “So fennekin has a lot of power and takes out opponents quickly, but can’t stand as long against them, and chespin is the opposite, right?”

“Generally speaking,” Alan said. “And then we have froakie.”

He set the chespin down and opened his arms, and the froakie—seeing that it was now his time to shine—happily bounced across the floor and onto his lap. A few of the bubbles frothing around his neck dampened the front of Alan’s lab coat.

“Froakie evolves into frogadier, and then greninja. A greninja’s greatest asset is their speed. Of the three here, greninja is the fastest, though greninja tend to lack the offensive power of delphox and the bulk of chesnaught. With greninja, you typically want to focus on their already innate speed, and then their special attacks. Although they aren’t usually as powerful as delphox when it comes to special attacks, you can focus their strength into them in an attempt to take down your opponents before they have a chance to take you. With attacks like Water Shuriken, this can be especially helpful.”

“I see, I see . . .” The girl said. She pressed her lips together, staring hard at the froakie, before she frowned and sighed loudly. “But I still don’t know which one to pick. I guess fennekin sounds like the best choice since it’s the most powerful, but—”

“That’s not true,” Alan said, and he set the froakie back on the floor. The fennekin immediately tried to climb onto his lap again, but he blocked her with a gentle hand on her hand, scratching her behind the ears.

“What do you mean?” the girl asked.

“I mean that everything I said just now is irrelevant,” he said, and when the girl scrunched her brow in what looked like consternation, continued, “It doesn’t matter what you do, or how many battles you win, if you don’t have a strong bond with your partner. In fact, it doesn’t matter how you _train_ if you don’t have a strong bond with your partner. You could do everything right, but if you don’t bond with your partner, you aren’t going to win anything. All you’re going to do is lose in the long run.”

“But . . . if delphox is strong—”

“Winning doesn’t matter. Trophies don’t matter. It can be fun, and nice. It always feels great when you win. But the reason _why_ it feels great is because it’s something that you and your partner accomplished, together. Powerful, defensive, fast . . . none of that matters if you have the right partner. If you believe in them, and they believe in you, then you can accomplish anything. So when you look at these three, don’t ask yourself which one you like best based on battles that you may or may not win in the future. Don’t ask yourself which one you like best based on the recommended training regimen. Ask yourself which one you like best based on your gut instinct. Out of these three, which one speaks to you the most?” The froakie croaked loudly, earning himself a nasty look from the chespin, and Alan added, “Figuratively speaking.”

The girl looked between all three again, her mouth pressed together in a thin line and her eyebrows knitted together, before she shot Alan a frustrated look. “You’re kind of confusing, you know that?”

Alan shrugged.

The girl huffed, and then looked back to the three pokémon again. “But, well . . .” she said. “I guess . . . if I think about the one I like best just by looking at them . . . then I think I like—”

“Yvonne!”

Both Alan and the girl looked back to the front door as a middle-aged woman with short, dark blond hair strode through it, readjusting a wildly swinging purse on her shoulder as she did. Her cheeks were flushed pink, and though she was smiling, her smile looked harried.

“I’m sorry I’m late, sweetie, I was held up at the boutique—they refused to give me the discount just because my receipt was a few days old—”

“It’s okay,” the girl—Yvonne—said, as she stood up to greet the woman Alan supposed was her mother. “Professor Sycamore is fixing my Pokédex, and I’m still deciding which pokémon to take. This professor is helping me.”

“Oh, no,” Alan said, and he stood up as well as Yvonne’s mother looked over at him, her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. “I’m not a—I’m one of the Professor’s assistants. My name is Alan.”

Yvonne gave him a flat look, and spoke with a tone to match. “You’re wearing a lab coat, and you know everything. You’re a professor.”

Alan sighed. “I’m not—”

“Yvonne, don’t say another word,” Yvonne’s mother said abruptly, and she tugged her daughter sharply back, away from both Alan and the three pokémon from which Yvonne was supposed to be choosing her first. Alan frowned, thinking that her reprimand was a bit over the line considering Yvonne hadn’t said anything bad, yet before he could say anything about it Yvonne’s mother looked to him, her eyes flashing as she pointed one finger in his direction. “And you. You don’t say another word to my daughter. I know exactly who you are.”

Alan’s heart started beating very fast, drumming a rapid beat in his ears as a hot flush broke out over his skin. “Excuse me?”

Yvonne, too, frowned up at her mother in confusion. “Mama? What are you—”

“Yvonne, shush,” the woman said, and she glanced at her daughter only briefly before she looked back at Alan, wide eyes hard and blazing. “My husband works down at the precinct—he told me all about you. You’re a criminal and a terrorist and god knows what else—a master manipulator, that’s for sure. My husband told me the only reason why they couldn’t pin any charges on you is because of the connections you have. Connections to Professor Sycamore here, and even our Champion?” The woman laughed derisively. “It’s despicable, the way you got off scot-free after all you did. You should be behind bars.”

Alan felt rooted to the spot. He opened his mouth to try and say something—anything—in response, but his voice (as it so often did) abandoned him.

“But you’re not, and you’re here, but damned if I’m going to let you corrupt my daughter in any way. The fact that you’re here interacting with _children_ at all is—” The woman took a deep breath. “Well. I’ll see to it that a stop is put to that. You’re not going to stand around here, bold as brass, pulling other children into your criminal dealings. I won’t have it. And if Professor Sycamore thinks this is an acceptable way to run his lab, then maybe this whole operation is corrupt—”

Something like fire flashed through Alan, and he balled his fingers into fists. “Don’t you say that about the Prof—”

“Don’t you take that tone with me, you nasty little criminal!” the woman snapped. “And don’t you start to get violent in front of my daughter, either—!”

“Excuse me, but what is going on out here?”

The Professor re-entered the foyer at last, Yvonne’s Pokédex in hand, looking between Yvonne’s irate mother and Alan with an expression of mingled confusion and concern. Yvonne’s mother’s face was red, and she was shaking as she turned to the Professor and jabbed one finger in Alan’s direction.

“What is going on, Professor Sycamore, is that you have not only employed a _criminal_ , but you’ve allowed him to be alone with my daughter. Do you have any idea what could have happened? How dangerous this is? What in Xerneas’ green earth compelled you to think this was appropriate?”

“Mama, he’s not _dangerous_ ,” Yvonne said, and she tugged on her mother’s blouse. “He was _helping_ me—”

“Yvonne, _shush_ ,” the woman said, batting Yvonne’s hand away.

All traces of geniality left the Professor’s expression, and when he spoke, his voice was hard. “Alan has been my most trusted assistant for the past ten—almost eleven—years. Aside from myself, there is hardly anyone more qualified to help your daughter choose her first partner than him. Yvonne was never in any danger, and—”

“ _Never in any danger_? He _destroyed_ half the city—”

“ _He_ did no such thing—”

“—and he probably would have twisted and corrupted my daughter’s mind into helping him with whatever criminal agenda he has going on next if given half the chance, no doubt picking up right where his fearless leader left off!”

“With all due respect, madam, that is the most ridiculous thing I have ever—”

“Professor, it’s all right,” Alan interrupted, and all eyes—including those belonging to the three pokémon—turned to him. The Professor opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Alan said, “You can take over from here, can’t you? I already gave Yvonne some information about fennekin, froakie, and chespin, and you would be better at explaining the Pokédex than I would be.”

“Well, of course I can, but—Alan, you don’t have to—”

“Good.” Alan looked back to Yvonne and her mother, and bowed once in their direction. “I’m sorry for any trouble I caused. I have some work to do in the garden. I’ll just . . . go do that.”

“If you were sorry, you wouldn’t have done it in the first place,” Yvonne’s mother muttered.

Alan ignored her, and looked to Yvonne instead. “Good luck. Make sure to always stay well-stocked on potions and berries.”

“I will,” Yvonne said, “but—hey!”

Alan turned and left the foyer as Yvonne’s mother scolded her once again and the Professor called after him. He didn’t really have work to do in the garden—or he probably did, could probably find _something_ to do, but as he headed toward the garden with as long of strides as he could take without running, _work_ was the farthest thing from his mind.

It was a mistake. He had known it was a mistake for months. He had told the Professor this the first night he had come home—had brought it up again weeks later as they had talked in the garden over coffee under the early light of dawn, right before the Professor had given him and Lizardon their matching pendants with the Key Stone and Charizardite embedded in them. The Professor was taking a risk by letting him stay, was risking _everything_ by letting him stay, regardless of how much he insisted otherwise. Regardless of what had actually happened the night Lysandre and Team Flare had attacked—regardless of what had actually happened in the years preceding that attack—none of that mattered in comparison to the public’s perception of what had happened. Most of the public didn’t know about his involvement; that part wasn’t widely publicized, particularly since he hadn’t been formally charged with any crime. But there were some (namely those within the police force) who did know, and with the way Yvonne’s mother had reacted to Alan working at the lab, he was sure it was only a matter of time before more of them did. He didn’t care very much about his own reputation, particularly since much of it was deserved. But she had made it clear that much of her anger rested with the Professor as well, and that . . . that was unacceptable.

The garden was, as per usual, filled to the brim with various pokémon when he reached it. Water-types, from the resident psyduck to a small family of marill, splashed in the pond; the resident linoone was playing tag with a swarm of combee, weaving and ducking between the trees as they tried their best to catch her; and Gabby seemed to be refereeing a game of hide-and-seek between the zigzagoon, all of whom Alan knew to be rather dramatic and petty when it came to their games, thus the need for a referee in the first place. But while Alan loved all the pokémon in the garden, there was only one that he needed to see right then—and that one, a massive orange dragon who had been sunbathing in the grass until that moment—perked up the moment he heard the door open. Lizardon got to his feet as Alan crossed the yard, and when they met in the middle, Alan stroked Lizardon’s snout in greeting.

“Hey, Lizardon,” he said, as Lizardon crooned happily and leaned into his touch. “What would you say to taking a little trip? A . . . vacation of sorts. Permanently.”

Lizardon froze, and while his eyes had been shut before as he relished in being petted, he opened them to look to Alan in concerned confusion. Alan held his gaze for only a moment before he looked down at the grass instead, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“We can’t stay here,” he said quietly. “It’s too dangerous. Or— _you_ can stay here, if you’d like, but I—”

Lizardon growled sharply, and in the next second knocked his head against Alan’s. Alan stumbled back a couple steps due to the force of the headbutt, yet even as he rubbed at the spot where Lizardon had hit him, he gave his best friend a grateful smile. It was more than obvious to him what Lizardon meant by that growl and headbutt: _‘If you’re going, I’m going.’_

“Thank you, Lizardon,” he said, and Lizardon snorted. “Then I’ll be back out here to get you in about ten minutes. Will you be ready by then?” Lizardon nodded, though he didn’t look particularly happy about it, and Alan had a feeling that he was going to be in for a long debate later that night. That was fine; it wasn’t like they wouldn’t have plenty of time for it. “Good. See you then.”

With Lizardon informed, Alan doubled back across the yard to re-enter the lab. The moment he crossed the threshold, shutting the door behind him as he did so, he caught the sound of voices from the foyer. They were no longer shouting, and that was a good sign, Alan thought. No doubt the Professor had been able to calm Yvonne’s mother down at least a fraction. With any luck, he would be able to get her to back away from a potential lawsuit, the lab would be safe, and the damage he had caused wouldn’t be permanent. All things considered, that was the best he could ask for.

His bedroom was on the second floor, and he crossed through the living room and took the stairs to the second floor two at a time, running through a list of the things he would need to take with him as he did so. Potions, like he had advised Yvonne, and Full Heals would be a good start. He thought he still had a few Full Restores left over, too. When he entered his room, he went straight to his closet and tugged his travel bag off the handle of the door. He unzipped the medicine pocket, and was relieved when he saw that he did indeed have Super Potions, Full Heals, and two Full Restores. Not that he couldn’t afford to buy more—he was smart with his money, he had a good deal to go on—but it was nice to know that he still had at least something to start with. Even if he wasn’t going to be battling the moment he touched ground somewhere, it was still good to be prepared.

Alan tossed his travel bag on the bed, shrugged off his lab coat, and tossed it on the back of the chair. Potions, Full Heals, Full Restores—food. He had chocolate, and both he and Lizardon were adept at fishing, but it would be good to have something else on hand just in case. He ran a hand through his hair, and took a deep breath. He could pick up something on the way. Chow for Lizardon, maybe chips or something for himself. So then, the next thing he needed to pack _here_ was—clothes. Except he didn’t really need to _pack_ those, the ones on his back would do, and he wasn’t taking his lab coat since that wasn’t really designed for traveling, and so he just needed his travel jacket—

“Alan?”

Alan froze in the process of tugging his travel jacket off the hanger in his closet at the sound of the Professor’s voice, his fingers instinctively bunching in his jacket sleeve. It felt like he had been caught in the act of doing something wrong, but—no, this wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t. It was the only _right_ choice to make. He tugged the jacket off the hanger, and pulled it on.

“What is it?” he asked, and turned to his desk to tug open the drawer where he stored his gloves.

“What are you doing?” the Professor asked instead, and his tone was mild save for the note of trepidation in it.

Alan didn’t look at him—he _couldn’t_ —as he pulled his gloves on. “Packing.”

“For?”

“A trip. I’m—I’m leaving.” Jacket, gloves—he always had his scarf, that was already around his neck—his pants. He needed to change from his jeans to his travel pants. And from his chucks to his boots, while he was at it—

“Okay . . .” the Professor said. “Where are you going?”

“I—I don’t—Johto, maybe. I hear Mt Silver is nice this time of year,” Alan said, as he pulled his travel pants from his dresser drawer. It was too awkward to change right then, with the Professor watching, so he would just have to pack them instead. He could always ditch his jeans somewhere in—Johto, he supposed, now that he had said that. He didn’t think Lizardon could fly that far, but he probably had enough money saved up for a plane ticket.

“All right,” the Professor said, and he crossed the room just as Alan finished shoving his travel pants down into his bag. “Well, before you exile yourself to Mt Silver in Johto, would you be open to talking with me about it first?” He placed his hand on Alan’s shoulder, and before Alan could stop himself, he jerked away from the Professor’s touch. Shame, as icy and torrential as a flash flood in the dead of winter, filled him the second he realized what he had done, and he cringed.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“It’s all right,” the Professor said, and he moved Alan’s travel bag out of the way before he took a seat on the bed and gestured to the spot beside him. “Would you care to sit down so we can talk about this?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Alan said, but he sat down the Professor regardless, knowing better than to refuse. “And I’m not ‘exiling’ myself, I’m just—”

“Mt Silver is one of the most remote locations in the world. The last time I checked, the closest thing to civilization there is a Pokémon Center located at the base,” the Professor said, and he smiled wryly. “If going there isn’t a self-imposed exile, I don’t know what is.”

“It wasn’t what I . . .” Alan sighed, and let it go. It wasn’t important it. He cast his eyes around the room, and after a moment gestured vaguely in the direction of the foyer. “Did they . . . is everything . . . ?”

“Everything worked out in the end,” the Professor said, and if nothing else, _that_ eased some of the tension from Alan’s shoulders. “Yvonne chose her partner and took her Pokédex, and both she and her mother left. Yvonne’s probably going to set out on her journey this evening.”

“Good,” Alan said. “I’m glad.”

“So am I,” the Professor said. “But I didn’t come up here to talk about Yvonne. I want to talk about you.”

Alan clenched his jaw, and chose to glare at his floor rather than the Professor. His carpet was still soft, which was a miracle considering how often he had walked across it with his shoes on. “There isn’t anything to talk about.”

“Considering I came up here to find you packing for a spontaneous trip to Johto, I would say that there is,” the Professor said. He paused a moment, and then said quietly, “Alan, you know there was no truth to anything Yvonne’s mother said, don’t you?”

Alan shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does—”

“It doesn’t.” Alan looked back to meet the Professor’s eyes. “Whether or not she’s right doesn’t matter. The fact is that she believes she is, and she isn’t the only one. She believes that because her husband does. He believes that probably because others down at the police station do. They have family—they have friends, and I’m sure they’re all saying the same things. That I’m a criminal, a freak, a complete monster—”

“It doesn’t matter what they’re saying, because none of it is true,” the Professor said firmly. “Don’t listen to them, Alan. Don’t _ever_ listen to them.”

“I _have_ to listen to them,” Alan said, “because it’s not about me, not really. It’s—” He took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. “I’m the problem. I’m the problem here, and that’s fine, I can live with that—”

“You’re not—”

“—but what I can’t live with is how that’s going to affect _you_. Before you came back, Yvonne’s mother said that she felt that you having me employed here meant the lab was corrupt. That’s the first step to her campaigning to have the lab shut down, and I can’t—”

“Alan, listen to me.” The Professor put his hands on Alan’s shoulders, and Alan opened his eyes to find the Professor staring directly at him. “The lab isn’t going to be shut down. Nothing bad is going to happen to me, or the lab, or anyone else here, and certainly not because of you.”

“It will,” Alan said. “I heard her. Unless I leave—”

“It won’t,” the Professor insisted, “and there isn’t anything she or anyone else could do to make that happen. You haven’t been convicted of any crime. You weren’t even charged. And as much as she and others might want to slander your name, that isn’t going to change anything. You didn’t do anything wrong, today or otherwise. You’ve been nothing but helpful here. And if she really wants to try and have our funding revoked, let her. I’ve run this lab for almost thirteen years now. I know far better than she does how the system works. I have a better chance of getting into Boutique Couture than I do of losing this lab, and you and I both know they gave me a lifetime ban.”

Despite himself, Alan huffed a laugh. “They still haven’t lifted that, huh?”

“Nope,” the Professor said, and he grinned. “The owner actually sent me a personal letter of offense after she saw my summer camp ensemble in the newspaper. In her words, that outfit was so hideous that it was actually cruel and inappropriate of me to expose children and pokémon alike to it.”

“That’s harsh.”

“Quite. But it also isn’t the point.” The Professor’s tone and expression both sobered, and Alan looked back down at the floor. “Alan, what happened was not your fault. Lysandre used you. He lied to, manipulated, and hurt you in ways that . . .” The Professor swallowed, and out of the corner of his eye Alan saw him close his eyes. “What he did to you is unforgivable, but it is not, never was, and never will be _your_ fault. What he did _to_ you is not _on_ you. And you certainly do not deserve to be punished for it.”

“Neither do you,” Alan said quietly. “And I—”

“And I’m not,” the Professor said, and Alan ran his tongue along his teeth as he shut his mouth. “As I’ve said, having you here is not a punishment. It isn’t a risk. However much you might think you’re dangerous, I know for a fact you aren’t.”

“And if what just happened downstairs happens again?” Alan said, and he gestured once more in the direction of the foyer. “If she brings friends along next time? If she starts a campaign to at the least drag your name through the mud, and at worst have the lab defunded?”

“Let her,” the Professor said simply, and as Alan scoffed and looked away, added more firmly, “Alan, I don’t care what she thinks, or does, or what she gets her friends to do. I don’t care what they say about me. I care about _you_.”

“And _I_ care about _you_ ,” Alan said, his voice rising uncontrollably. “And I can’t let you be hurt because of—”

“I’m not _going_ to be hurt!” the Professor said. “There isn’t any danger, but even if there was, I would gladly face it if it meant making sure that you’re all right.”

“I’ll _be_ all right,” Alan said. “I am—I’m fine—”

“If you were fine, you wouldn’t be trying to run away to Mt Silver in the midst of a panic attack,” the Professor said.

“I’m not—” Alan took a deep, shaking breath, and scrubbed his hands up his face before running his fingers through his hair. He released the breath he had been holding, and then dropped his hands to his lap.

They were both silent for a few seconds before the Professor said, “Look, let’s try—I’m going to ask you a question, all right? And I want you to answer honestly, but I also want you to answer without thinking. Just give me the very first answer that comes to mind. All right?”

“Okay,” Alan said.

“Do you want to leave?”

“No.”

The Professor smiled. “Then there we have it. You’re not leaving.”

Alan bit back the growl of frustration in his throat. “It’s not that simple—”

“It is,” the Professor interrupted. “This is your home. It has been your home since you were five years old, and that isn’t changing any time soon. It certainly isn’t changing because some ill-tempered woman off the street wants it to. If she thinks I’m going to listen to her now when I wouldn’t listen to one of my best friends a decade ago, she has another think coming.”

Alan shook his head, and cast his eyes back to the carpet. “But you _should_ listen to her,” he said quietly. “And you probably should have listened to Fulbert back then—”

“No.”

“Professor—”

“ _Alan_.” There was something in the Professor’s tone that compelled Alan to look up, and when he met the Professor’s eyes, the Professor said, “I have never, even for one second, regretted my decision to bring you home. Nothing anyone says or does could ever change that.”

Alan swallowed, but it didn’t work to dislodge the thick feeling in his throat, and as a result his words came out a bit strangled. “You’re too good to me.”

“Not so,” the Professor said. “I’m treating you exactly the way you deserve to be treated.”

That wasn’t true. However much the Professor might think otherwise, Alan knew what he deserved, and it wasn’t the unconditional love the Professor had always given him. But saying as much wouldn’t get them anywhere; he wasn’t going to change the Professor’s mind, and as much as he knew that he didn’t deserve the kindness or the compassion, he was too selfish to refuse it.

“But, that being said,” the Professor said after a moment, “are you still planning on going to Mt Silver?”

He should, he knew. He _should_ leave, should go _somewhere_ even if not Mt Silver. But he wasn’t lying before when he said he didn’t want to leave, and he knew—had known even before their discussion—that the Professor felt otherwise. So instead of stating the obvious, that he _should_ plan to go to Mt Silver (or _somewhere_ ), he instead shook his head, and paused for only a moment before he pulled his gloves off and tossed them on the bed beside him.

“No. I—I’m sorry. I was being stupid—”

“You weren’t being stupid,” the Professor said, as Alan shrugged his travel jacket off and tossed that on top of his gloves. “You were attacked in your own home. Anyone would feel flustered after that.”

“I wasn’t _attacked_ —”

“You were. But it’s all right—or at least, it will be from now on. I made it quite clear that she’s not welcome back here.” The Professor smiled. “And if she ever decides to test that, I’m sure Gabrielle would be more than happy to discuss our visitor policy with her.”

“I’m not sure she would appreciate Gabby roaring in her face,” Alan said.

“No,” the Professor agreed, his smile unwavering, “but I would.”

Alan couldn’t help but smile, even as he ducked his head to hide it, but from the way the Professor clapped a hand on his back and rubbed a comforting circle in, Alan thought he saw anyway.

“Now, why don’t we take the rest of the day off—or at least take a break—and go for a walk? There’s a new ice cream stand that opened half a year ago that I don’t believe I’ve shown you yet. They sell ice cream for humans and pokémon alike, so Gabrielle and Lizardon can come with us.” The Professor stood up from the bed, and extended his hand toward Alan. “What do you say?”

Setting aside the fact that Alan wasn’t sure he could concentrate on work now, it was difficult for him to say ‘no’ to ice cream, and even more so when he knew that there was pokémon-safe ice cream on the menu for Lizardon as well. So he smiled faintly and nodded as he took the Professor’s hand, allowing the Professor to pull him up from his bed.

“Yeah,” he said. “Sounds good.”

“Marvelous!” the Professor said, and he released Alan’s hand as he led the way to the door. “We’ll stop by the garden to pick them up, then, and then we’ll be on our way. I think you’ll really enjoy it, they have a wide variety of toppings despite being such a small stand—and on the way I can show you this new bookstore that opened on Autumnal Avenue, have you seen it? It looks small, but I swear it feels quite a bit larger once you’re inside . . .”


End file.
